A Tale of Two Cities

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Naturally struck by the disagreeable word, Charles Darnay requested the
speaker to take notice that he was a free traveller and French citizen, in
charge of an escort which the disturbed state of the country had imposed upon
him, and which he had paid for.

Charles Darnay naturally noticed their use of the word
prisoner. He asked the man to recognize that he was a free
traveler and a French citizen. He told him that the dangerous situation in the
country made it necessary for him to travel with an escort, and that he had paid
these men to escort him.

“Where,” repeated the same personage, without taking any heed of him whatever,
“are the papers of this prisoner?”

“Where are the prisoner’s paper?” repeated the man, ignoring him.

The drunken patriot had them in his cap, and produced them. Casting his eyes
over Gabelle’s letter, the same personage in authority showed some disorder and
surprise, and looked at Darnay with a close attention.

The drunken patriot took Darnay’s papers out of his cap. Looking over
Gabelle’s letter, the same man in charge seemed surprised. He looked at Darnay
carefully.

He left escort and escorted without saying a word, however, and went into the
guard-room; meanwhile, they sat upon their horses outside the gate. Looking
about him while in this state of suspense, Charles Darnay observed that the gate
was held by a mixed guard of soldiers and patriots, the latter far outnumbering
the former; and that while ingress into the city for peasants’ carts bringing in
supplies, and for similar traffic and traffickers, was easy enough, egress, even
for the homeliest people, was very difficult. A numerous medley of men and
women, not to mention beasts and vehicles of various sorts, was waiting to issue
forth; but, the previous identification was so strict, that they filtered
through the barrier very slowly. Some of these people knew their turn for
examination to be so far off, that they lay down on the ground to sleep or
smoke, while others talked together, or loitered about. The red cap and
tri-colour cockade were universal, both among men and women.

He left Darnay and the escorts without saying a word and went into the
guardroom. They sat on their horses and waited for him outside the gate. As he
looked around while waiting anxiously, Charles Darnay saw that the gate was
being guarded by a combination of soldiers and citizens, with citizens far
outnumbering the soldiers. While the entrance into the city for peasants with
carts full of supplies and other such traffic was easy to get though, the exit,
even for the poorest peasants, was very difficult. A large group of men and
women, not to mention animals and vehicles of various kinds, was waiting to
leave. It took so long to check their identification that they moved through the
barrier very slowly. Some of these people knew that they had so long to wait
before they were questioned that they were lying on the ground sleeping or
smoking. Others chatted together or hung around. Every man and woman wore a red
cap and a three-colored cockade.

When he had sat in his saddle some half-hour, taking note of these things,
Darnay found himself confronted by the same man in authority, who directed the
guard to open the barrier. Then he delivered to the escort, drunk and sober, a
receipt for the escorted, and requested him to dismount. He did so, and the two
patriots, leading his tired horse, turned and rode away without entering the
city.

After Darnay had waited on his horse for half an hour noticing these things,
the same man in charge came out and told the guard to open the barrier. Then he
gave the drunken sober escorts a receipt for Darnay and asked Darnay to get down
off his horse. He did so, and the two escorts, leading Darnay’s tired horse,
turned and rode away without entering the city.

He accompanied his conductor into a guard-room, smelling of common wine and
tobacco, where certain soldiers and patriots, asleep and awake, drunk and sober,
and in various neutral states between sleeping and waking, drunkenness and
sobriety, were standing and lying about. The light in the guard-house, half
derived from the waning oil-lamps of the night, and half from the overcast day,
was in a correspondingly uncertain condition. Some registers were lying open on
a desk, and an officer of a coarse, dark aspect, presided over these.

He went with the guard into a guardroom. It smelled of wine and cigarette
smoke, and there were several soldiers and citizens there, standing or lying
around. Some were sleeping, some were awake, some were drunk, and some were
sober. Some were in various states between asleep and awake, or drunk and sober.
The light in the guardhouse came partly from the fading oil lamps and partly
from the overcast day. Some books of lists were lying open on a desk, and a
rough, dark-looking officer was in charge of these.

“Citizen Defarge,” said he to Darnay’s conductor, as he took a slip of paper
to write on. “Is this the emigrant Evremonde?”

“Citizen Defarge,” the officer said to the guard escorting Darnay as he took
out a slip of paper to write on. “Is this the emigrant Evremonde?”

“This is the man.”

“This is the man.”

“Your age, Evremonde?”

“How old are you, Evremonde?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Married, Evremonde?”

“Are you married, Evremonde?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Where married?”

“Where were you married?”

“In England.”

“In England.”

“Without doubt. Where is your wife, Evremonde?”

“Of course you were. Where is your wife, Evremonde?”

“In England.”

“She is in England.”

“Without doubt. You are consigned, Evremonde, to the prison of La
Force.”

“Of course she is. You will be sent to La Force Prison, Evremonde.”

“Just Heaven!” exclaimed Darnay. “Under what law, and for what
offence?”